


The Flowers That Bloom in the Spring

by dreamiflame



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Pining, Rimming, Sex Pollen, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:26:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7616254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamiflame/pseuds/dreamiflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corin wants what he can't have, until a fateful trip to Narnia proves him wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flowers That Bloom in the Spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> This got away from me. I was trying to fit in a lot of your likes, and the porn kept going and going and going. Thanks to my beta for encouragement, voice checking, and not running away screaming at the very idea. I hope you enjoy this.

Corin knows there’s something not quite right with him.

He’s a young man now, and his father keeps looking at him and Cor and saying things like, “When I was your age, boys, I’d met your mother.”

Cor always blushes and glances at Aravis, if she’s nearby, but Corin-

Corin self abuses as much as the next teenager, perhaps more, but he never thinks of girls when he does. And while Cor has been busy nearly since his return learning to be king, Corin has worked with the guards extensively. He’ll be a warrior prince, King Cor’s strong right arm, and he trains himself to that.

It also means he’s heard things he would not have otherwise. Some of the guards are inclined to love other men, and they hold it no shame. Indeed, Corin knows of none in his father’s court who do. His father certainly would not hold his interest in other men against him.

What holds Corin’s secret fast on his tongue is the man he thinks of when he touches himself, and dreams of when he wakes with soiled sheets: Cor.

His twin brother, gone for so many years and finally returned. Cor is like a mirror of himself, if Corin spent more time inside learning government than outside learning fighting. Corin looks at his brother sometimes and cannot breathe for the want that chokes his throat.

So their fights have become more frequent, and usually end with Cor pinned facedown with Corin on his back, prick to Cor’s arse. Corin is sure Cor must have noticed it, but Cor has never said anything, no matter how flushed his face when Corin lets him up again. And Corin shies away from looking to see if his brother’s tunic shows a similar problem after their tussles.

What would he do if it did? What could he do if it did not?

So Corin wants, and fights with his brother, and says nothing of the secrets of his heart, though he knows his behavior is a concern for his father. Finally, in the spring, King Lune calls both his sons to him.

“You have become full of strife, my sons, and it saddens my heart full sore. But our royal cousins, King Edmund and Queen Lucy of Narnia, along with their elder siblings, King Peter and Queen Susan, have invited you to join them for the Spring Celebration this year. I will send you both with my most trusted guards, and perhaps the influence of calmer heads than mine will help curb your conflict.”

Corin has heard things of the Spring Celebration in Narnia that make him eager to see it. There is dancing, and wrestling, and a solemn rite where many of the tree women and river daughters take husbands among the fauns and satyrs. There’s a feast, and hunting for the feast, and on the Equinox, all are encouraged to stay awake as long as one can, to measure the night against the day to find it equal.

His heart gives a glad leap, for Corin has missed his friendship with the Kings and Queens of Narnia, and he smiles at his father. 

“I shall try to behave better, father,” he promises, and his father’s brows knit as though he can read the uncertainty in Corin’s heart. Then his eyes slide to Cor, and his face clouds further.

“What is it, Cor?”

Cor is biting his lip, but he releases it when King Lune speaks. Corin pushes down the desire to kiss the mark Cor’s teeth left on his plush lower lip. He must not give his father more reason to doubt his control.

“Can’t Aravis come, too?” Cor asks, and Corin tries not to let jealousy make him bitter. He knows that Cor and Aravis are bound by the journey that took them out of Calormen and across the desert to Archenland. He even knows, as most of the court does, though Aravis and Cor feign not to, that they will wed one day.

But Corin dreams at night of Cor looking at him the way he sometimes gazes at Aravis, and Corin _wants_.

King Lune extends his arm to call Cor close, and Cor moves into the heavy, one armed hug Corin knows so well. “I am truly sorry, my son. Aravis’s friend from Calormen will be here by then, so of course she cannot leave her guest.”

It has taken years and many letters back and forth for Lasaraleen to agree to visit Aravis in Archenland, and Corin knows just as well as Cor does how Aravis has been looking forward to it. Cor gives a sharp nod and hugs their father back, then steps away. His eyes are suspiciously bright. 

“I understand. I shall go pack.” He bows briefly, and goes.

King Lune turns to Corin. “My son, I must speak to you,” he says. Corin nods, knowing better than to argue when his father uses that tone. “I know that you are young, and full of fire and wants that you have never felt before. I, too, was once young. And this journey may well offer you the chance to test your desires for the first time, and there is nothing wrong with that. But Corin, I must ask you to watch over Cor. I have sheltered him, here with me in our castle, because he was so long lost to me, and I have much to teach him. I also fear, though I know not it is not sensible, that he will vanish again if I give him leave to go from my sight.” He pauses, and runs a hand over his face.

“I know, father,” Corin says, because he watches his brother as well, ready to challenge any who might take him away. “I have no wish to be king. I will guard him from danger while we are away.”

“Both you, and the guards, and all loyal Narnians shall,” King Lune agrees, and manages a smile. “I know this, and I would not lay this burden on you were you unable to bear it. But also, I must ask you, be kind to your brother. I know the blood runs hot in you both, but you must not knock him down so often. Even if he does seem at times to provoke you.”

Corin has thought that he imagined those times, when Cor will come and push at him until they fight, and Corin pins Cor beneath him. But now his father has mentioned them as well. Perhaps there is more conflict in Cor than Corin has let himself see. Perhaps-

Corin bows his head, and tries to suppress the hope welling in him. “I shall do my best,” he promises again, and King Lune squeezes his shoulder before hugging him hard.

“And Corin? Listen to the warnings the Narnians give you. They know their own land, its dangers and surprises, and I would have you return to me safe.”

Corin grins at his father, bows, and goes to pack. He passes Cor’s room, and can hear Aravis speaking within, but he resists the urge to stay and listen to her council Cor. Instead he goes to his room and packs his most comfortable and nicest tunics, many of which are the same garments. He packs his bow, arrows, and his favorite sword, and considers whether he should do the same for Cor.

In the end he does not, and resolves to remind Cor of the weapons, should he wish to bring some.

*

The journey to Narnia over the mountains is cold in the still chill air of early spring. Corin glances behind to where Cor is huddled in his cloak, and gives his brother a smile. “At least you do this in the light this time, not wrapped in a cloud.”

Cor smiles wanly back. “It was an interesting journey. I was cold and scared and yet, the Voice made me feel safe.”

“Praise Aslan,” Corin says, and turns back to the path.

They are met on the far side of the path by a knot of men and Dwarves and a few of the Talking Beasts that call Narnia home. 

“We greet you, Princes of Archenland!” they chorus, and Corin smiles and waves at particular friends. Then they are guided to a grand pavilion where King Edmund and Queen Lucy greet them.

The rest of the day is a blur of pleasantries and good food, of trying to understand the schedule for upcoming days while simultaneously listening to a story about King Frank and Queen Helen, found by a scholar of the Narnian court. Corin gives up trying to pay attention to everything after a while, and just eats, hungry after their journey.

He is whisked off to bed after supper, and out of bed at sunrise, to ride with the others in a hunt for some kind of hare. Corin catches nothing but flowers in his hair and a good dose of sunlight. Cor manages to break most of his arrows in the first few hours. 

“We must teach you better, Prince Cor!” a centaur with red hair and beard calls to him, and Cor just nods ruefully.

“I should go with you to practice shooting more,” he says to Corin, and Corin agrees.

“You would be welcome,” he says, and smiles as Cor’s eyes light up.

It is easier in Narnia to find things to distract himself, and so keep his word to his father about not fighting so much with Cor. Corin watches over his brother, too, and smiles to see him smile at all the wonders they experience.

On the third day, they wake to find the pavilion in an uproar. “Messengers have come from Cair Paravel,” King Edmund tells them over breakfast. “My royal sister and I are needed this day, and cannot entertain you according to plan. But our loyal subjects can do so, if you wish it.”

“My lord,” Cor answers, before Corin has finished the bite he is chewing, “I had hoped for a day to spend wandering the countryside with a lunch, to explore your land some. None need attend me.”

“Save myself, of course,” Corin puts in, and Cor inclines his head.

“We would be happy to acquiesce to your desire, Prince Cor,” Queen Lucy answers with a smile. “A luncheon will be provided, and you may wander where you will. But, dear cousins, mind the flowers. The flowers that are large and purple, with gold at their hearts, are made strange by Spring. I beg you, stray not from the path among them, to your peril.”

“We shall be careful,” Cor says, and Corin nods his agreement.

They set out after breakfast, a large basket with their lunch in it, covered by a blanket to sit upon. They have their water bottles, and a wineskin to drink from, and Cor tilts his face up to the sun. “Do you mind?” he asks Corin.

Corin shakes his head, and is rewarded by a bright smile. “Good,” Cor says. “I thought to spend some time with you, now that we’re getting along better.”

“I’m sorry,” Corin says, and offers Cor his hand. “Friends again?”

“Of course,” Cor says. They walk for around an hour until they find a pleasant valley full of shady trees, with a patch of purple flowers in the middle. In the distance, a brook babbles enchantingly over pebbles and sand.

“This place is perfect,” Cor says, and spread their blanket over the ground under a large elm. They share their luncheon, talking easily, and Corin feels his heart swell in him.

He has been so conflicted of late, his desire and his guilt warring within him, that he has missed this easiness with Cor, the simple joy of having a brother. He sips the the last of his wine as he listens to Cor talk, and gathers the scraps of their meal and their plates, putting it all back in the basket.

“Of course, I told him he was wrong,” Cor says, finishing his story of a conversation with a tree lord. “He simply refused to believe that you were ever the heir, and lamented sorely over what Archenland would have become under your rule.”

Annoyance stirs, but Corin pushes the feeling down. “That will never happen now, praise Aslan,” he says. Cor gives him a look that is nearly a smirk, and Corin wonders again about Cor baiting him. He busies himself in shaking the crumbs off the blanket.

“That’s what I told him,” Cor says. “You’ve really gone all out to make yourself my slave-”

“I am not a slave, to you or to any other,” Corin snaps, dropping the blanket. “Don’t spread lies, Cor.”

Cor jumps to his feet to face Corin. “You’ve been acting like it here, so deferential. Everyone’s noticed.”

Corin’s fists ball. “Father asked me to keep an eye on you,” he says.

Cor shoves him. “I don’t need you to guard me, that’s what the guards are for!”

A moment later, Corin’s knuckles hurt from Cor’s jaw, and Cor is on his back in the patch of flowers. Clouds of golden pollen seep up from them, and Corin gets a lungful of it as he breathes in, trying to calm himself.

The sun is abruptly scorching, and Corin breathes in three more gasps of pollen laced air, feeling his anger shift into something more dangerous. He offers a hand to Cor. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Cor takes his hand, grins wickedly, and pulls him down.

His landing throws more pollen into the air, and Corin inhales, starting to feel light headed. He hadn’t had very much wine with their luncheon, but he feels almost drunk now. He turns to glare at Cor and freezes, caught by the glitter of pollen on Cor’s lashes as he blinks. Cor licks his lips, and Corin lunges for him, unable to resist for one more moment.

Corin has just enough presence of mind not to actually kiss his brother. Instead, he latches his mouth to Cor’s neck and straddles him, slotting their hips together with a force that makes them both moan. Cor is hard beneath his tunic, and they rut against one another for a long desperate time while Corin leaves a trail of marks on Cor’s neck. Every move sends more pollen up into the sky to drift down over them, and Corin can taste it, musky and floral, on Cor’s skin.

He can’t stop himself, but Cor doesn’t seem to want him to, to judge from his hands on Corin’s head and hip. 

“Yes, yes, _Corin_ ,” he says, and Corin pulls down his tunic to bite at Cor’s collarbones. “Yes!” Cor says, and thrusts up hard, wetness spreading against his tunic as he pulses against Corin’s hip.

Corin pins his brother more firmly and bites his shoulder as he spends in his own tunic, thrusting against Cor’s thigh. His head clears a little with his release, and Corin rears back, shocked at what he has done. At what Cor has let him do.

Cor is covered in golden pollen and swiftly darkening marks in the shape of Corin’s mouth. He smiles up at Corin, an inviting look on his face. “Why haven’t you done that before?”

Because you are my brother, Corin thinks. You are my brother, and I should not, and yet I want you. But _why_ did I give in now?

Mind the flowers, Queen Lucy had warned. The flowers Cor is lying in are large, purple, and hearted with gold. Corin says a curse he should not know, and reaches to pull Cor up. They need to get to the water, to wash away the pollen.

Cor reaches for him, brushing aside Corin’s hand, and pulls him back down. His prick is full again, hard under the wet patch on his tunic, and brushing against it wakes Corin to the fact he, too, is hard. He breathes in to tell Cor no, tastes the pollen again on his tongue, and moans out “Yes,” instead. Cor holds insistently to Corin’s hips and ruts up against him, and Corin could no more stop his hips than stop his heart.

Corin sucks more bruises onto Cor’s neck as they move together, the friction so good he cannot think of anything but more and faster. He looks longingly at Cor’s mouth for a moment, open as Cor breathlessly encourages him, but something in him holds him back. Corin is doing enough, some part of him thinks. He should not be kissing Cor as well.

This time, after he spends, Corin manages to pull Cor from the bed of flowers, and start dragging him to the brook. Cor is unhelpful in Corin’s attempts, he simply keeps rubbing himself against Corin, wherever he can reach. Corin says more curses he should not know, and doggedly continues to the stream. He can feel the pollen heating his blood yet again, and his prick is moving from half to full hardness just from the friction of his wet tunic, but Corin is determined.

He tumbles them into the water and lets out a shout, echoed a second later by Cor: the water is frigid with ice melt still, not yet warmed to summer temperatures despite the spring sunshine. It helps clear Corin’s head more, though it does nothing to cool his ardor: Corin’s prick remains stubbornly hard, and his blood is starting to burn within him. Cor, flailing, catches his arm, and Corin sucks in a breath that thankfully tastes of water instead of flowers. Cor’s skin on his own both feeds the fire and dampens it.

Corin struggles with his belt, the wet leather reluctant to give, and pulls off his tunic once he succeeds. He rinses it until not a trace of his spend, nor of the golden pollen remain, then tosses to a rocky part of the shore and ducks under the icy water, cleaning himself of the pollen as best he can. When he emerges, Cor is staring at him, wide eyed and hungry. He is still fully dressed, and the brook’s current show that he is in much the same state Corin still finds himself in, hard and aching.

Cor whimpers when Corin brushes his prick while undoing his belt, and Corin bites his lip to help control himself. Somehow, he gets Cor undressed and his tunic rinsed off, but to get Cor himself clean Corin has to touch him, and then Cor is sucking a mark into his neck and Corin is holding both their pricks as they move together. 

“Yes,” he says, understanding why Cor was so vocal before: Cor’s mouth on his neck feels amazing. “Yes, yes.”

They spend at nearly the same time, and Corin’s knees give out, dropping them both into the waist deep water. He takes advantage of it to run his fingers through Cor’s hair, freeing him from the pollen, and pulls Cor back to the surface once he’s clean again.

Cor is shivering and covered in gooseflesh, but his prick is hardening just the same. Corin guides him out of the water. “We need the blanket,” he says, and Cor nods, going back to their tree, while giving the flowers a thankfully wide berth. Despite their weight, the flowers show no sign of where Cor lay among them, some magic in them bringing even the crushed blossoms back to full strength.

Corin wrings out their tunics as best he can, and spreads them to dry on rocks near the shore. His blood is burning within him and his skin feels too tight and sensitive by the time he finishes. He pauses a little too close to the flowers and sucks in another lungful of pollen before he realizes what he’s done.

He doesn’t know how he makes it to the blanket, but he’s there, suddenly, dropping to his knees beside Cor. Cor has taken the oil from their lunch, which he prefers on his bread instead of butter, and has two fingers knuckle deep inside himself. His other hand strokes his stiff prick, and Corin’s mouth waters. “What took you so long?”

“Tunics,” Corin says, and sucks on Cor’s hipbone. Cor makes a high, pleased sound, almost a whimper, and his hands speed up. Corin pulls the one on his prick away, ignoring Cor’s whine, and looks up at him. “I want-”

“Yes,” Cor says, and Corin licks the oil off the head of Cor’s prick, prompting another whine from his twin. “Yes, yes, oh, Corin, yes.” The hand Cor was stroking himself with lands in Corin’s hair and tightens, pulling just enough for Corin to moan around his mouthful. The slight pain seems to transfer directly to his prick, and he grinds his hips against the blanket.

“More,” Cor demands, and Corin slides his mouth further onto Cor’s prick, feeling the weight on his tongue and savoring the taste: oil and musk, salt and bitterness. He wraps a hand around the base of Cor’s prick and sucks hard, moving his head up and down. With every stroke, more of the oil fades away, and Cor’s taste is stronger on Corin’s tongue. Cor pulls again on his hair, and Corin moans again around the flesh in his mouth. “Oh, _yes_ ,” Cor says, and Corin knows he is close to spending again. Corin strokes the base of Cor’s prick and sucks harder.

Cor twists his fingers inside himself and cries out, and Corin swallows as the salty fluid of Cor’s spend erupts in his mouth. He misses a bit, and it runs down his cheek to his chin. Cor drags him up by his hair and licks the stray spend away, and stares into Corin’s eyes.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” Corin’s hips jerk at the question: he _wants_ , and Cor is right there in front of him. But he turns his head when Cor tries to pull him in, and Cor’s mouth lands hot slick on his cheek. “Corin?”

“You don’t want this,” Corin says, the words feeling torn from him. “You never- it’s the pollen, why you’re like this, and I can’t not touch you,” he skims his hands up Cor’s body from hips to nipples and pinches. Cor’s whole body jerks and he gasps out a moan. “I can’t stop, Cor, it would hurt too much, but I don’t have to make it worse.”

“I want this,” Cor says, and his voice is steady but his eyes are still more pupil than iris, and his prick is hardening again against Corin’s stomach. “I want you, Corin, I have for ages.”

“That’s the pollen,” Corin tells him, and takes one of Cor’s nipples into his mouth. The sounds Cor makes as Corin gives the nub gentle bites have him grinding harder into the ground, until he spends on the blanket, muffling his shout with Cor’s chest. He switches nipples when his breathing slows, and Cor murmurs something Corin can’t quite understand.

Cor repeats himself before Corin can ask. “Why won’t you believe me?”

Corin lifts his head: he needs Cor to see him for this, no matter how painful it is later. “Aravis,” he says. Cor goes still. Despite his best efforts, Corin can’t meet his gaze for long, and lets his eyes wander down Cor’s body.

There are three fingers in Cor now, stretching him out, though Corin’s bluntness has made them still. Corin licks his lips and stares, feeling the pollen sing in his blood. He _wants_ , so Corin ducks his head and runs his tongue along the rim stretched tight around Cor’s fingers. Cor makes a shocked sound, but doesn’t pull away. “C-Corin!” he says, breathless again, and Corin keeps licking, tasting musk and earthiness and Cor’s oil. He presses his tongue in between Cor’s fingers, and Cor gasps and makes the kind of noises that will haunt Corin’s dreams later. Corin pulls Cor’s hand free, slicks two of his own fingers in his spend on the blanket, and presses them into Cor along with his tongue.

Cor writhes and grabs for Corin’s hair, pulling it again to direct Corin where he wants him. Corin resists just enough to make Cor pull harder, then plunges his tongue in as deep as he can get it, crooking his fingers. There’s a spot inside him when he fingers himself that feels like lightning across his veins, and if Corin has it, so does Cor…

He brushes it and Cor throws his head back and howls. Corin would grin if his mouth wasn’t busy, so he does it again, and again after that, licking between his fingers and not letting up until Cor’s thighs are trembling, signalling how close he is to release. They have each spent so many times, yet Corin’s body still hums and sparks, and his prick is hard underneath him. He pulls his fingers out of Cor and he whimpers, pulling angrily on Corin’s hair. 

“Don’t stop!” he commands. Corin licks one last time around the rim of Cor’s arse and leans up to look at his brother.

Cor looks wrecked, his lips bitten red and his prick leaking and full against his stomach. “I want-” Corin says, but the words fail him. He knows what the guardsmen would call it, vulgar words that a prince has no place knowing, but Corin doesn’t want to cheapen any of this. “I want you,” he says, and Cor is nodding even before Corin finishes the words. “I want to-”

“Yes yes yes,” says Cor, and lets go of Corin’s hair to start pulling on his shoulder, trying to drag him up. “Yes, more, now, Corin, yes.” Corin lets Cor guide him up and gropes for the oil as Cor kisses his face and neck.

He spills much of the oil on the grass, but enough remains on his hand to slick up the aching flesh between his thighs. Cor fastens his mouth to the hinge of Corin’s jaw, and sucks, hard.

They will both be covered in mouth shaped bruises after this. Corin shivers in delight, lifts Cor’s legs to give himself room, and begins pressing into his brother.

He feels the hot, tight grip of Cor’s body around his and clenches his teeth together, trying not to spend before he even begins. Cor has no such restraint: he throws his head back with a shout and spends over both their stomachs. His seed leaves white trails up his chest to his throat.

Cor’s body clamps down on Corin’s prick, milking him in pulses as Cor’s releases spurts from him. It’s too much to resist, and Corin thrusts into Cor as he, too, finds his release.

He collapses atop his brother, smearing Cor’s seed between them and forcing the breath out of Cor. “Heavy,” Cor grumbles, so Corin manages to push himself over, onto his back beside Cor.

The sunlight is warm again as he pants heavily in the bright afternoon, and Corin is abruptly, desperately tired. His blood seems to be cooling, and his prick stays soft against his thigh, no longer insistent.

Cor pants for air beside him, and Corin summons the strength to lift himself on his elbow and examine him. Cor is even more of a mess than before, covered in marks Corin sucked into his skin, and the smears of his seed up his chest, where his nipples are still reddened from Corin’s earlier attentions. Cor’s legs are parted, with Corin’s seed trickling from his arse. 

A ghost of the heat he has been suffering from kindles in Corin’s belly, and he reaches before he thinks better of it, catching some of the spend and pressing it, and his fingers, back into Cor. Cor groans and throws an arm over his face, but his hips lift to give Corin better access. Corin catches the seed as it seeps out and pushes it back in, over and over, until Cor whimpers and tries to squirm away. 

“Enough,” he says, and his voice is rough and cracked from the sounds he has been making while they suffered from the pollen.

Reluctantly, Corin pulls his fingers free. They’re covered with his seed, and he lifts them to his mouth to clean. Cor has dropped his arm and stares at him until Corin offers the last few licks to Cor. Blushing, Cor catches Corin’s hand and finishes cleaning his fingers.

Cor had said- and Cor is doing- but Corin is weary down to his bones, and he cannot spare the energy to unravel his feelings now. He lets his clean hand drop to Cor’s waist and pulls him close, already feeling his eyelids go heavy.

Corin dreams of a future when Cor is King, and he is the King’s right hand. Aravis is there, but dressed no more finely than she dresses now, and Cor’s smiles are all for Corin in this dreams. He wakes to long evening shadows, and the deferential little cough of a Faun he recognizes, but can not remember the name of.

The Faun gives Corin a small smile, and Corin tries to be subtle about shifting away from his twin. They have been sleeping curled together, naked as children, but the evidence of their decidedly not childlike activities is all over them. The Faun has their tunics and belts over his arm, and offers Corin a wet cloth, cool from the stream.

Beside him, Cor stirs. “Corin?” he asks. Corin wipes away what he can of the dried spend and oil on his skin, and offers the cloth to Cor. Cor’s eyes widen when he sees the Faun, and his cheeks burn as he, too, cleans himself off. The Faun pretends to take no notice of their position, merely hands their clothes over with a bow.

Corin gets dressed quickly, and leaps to his feet. 

“My Princes, I am glad I found you,” the Faun says, when Cor and Corin are both dressed and have pulled back on the boots they abandoned before their lunch. “Their Majesties were most concerned that none had seen you since you left this morning.”

“We didn’t mean to stay out so long, Alekos,” Cor says. Alekos, the Faun, gives a small bow, and helps them fold up the blanket and tuck it away in the basket. Corin can’t meet Cor’s eyes, though Cor seems to be trying to catch his.

They begin the walk back to the Narnian encampment, Alekos’s hooves tapping merrily over the occasional stone in their path. Alekos chatters on about what the others have been doing while King Edmund and Queen Lucy were away, but after receiving no replies, he too, falls silent.

Corin’s guilt is heavy on his heart and his tongue. After long moments of walking, Alekos clears his throat.

“Prince Cor, Prince Corin,” he says, and Corin makes a sound to let the Faun know he is heard. “I must advise you, do not trouble yourself over the incident in the glade. The flowers that bloom in the spring are very potent.”

Corin gives a small laugh. Alekos ignores it. “And you can, of course, depend upon my discretion. The pollen gives little choice to its victims, and must be flushed out of one’s system before it kills.”

That gets Corin’s attention back. Dear stars, if he nearly killed his brother- “The pollen is deadly?”

Alekos nods. “If it is not excised, it can kill its host.”

Somehow, that gives Corin the strength to meet Cor’s eyes. Cor is looking at him, bruised but hopeful, none of the disgust Corin feared on his face.

Alekos gives a tittering laugh. “I will go ahead, my Princes, to let them know you are found, and to let you talk.” He speeds up his pace and soon vanishes among the trees.

The sun is starting to set as they walk, and Corin doesn’t pull away when Cor reaches over to take his hand. “Will you listen to me now?”

“Yes,” Corin says, but he keeps his eyes on the path as Cor talks. All the feelings of confusion and tangled desire and guilt he has been fighting with for the past few years have been Cor’s foes as well. The times he had wondered if Cor was picking fights, pushing at him to cause them to wrestle, had not been his imagination.

Corin has been drowning in want, without any idea of how he did not drown alone.

Cor’s voice slows down, and his fingers tighten on Corin’s. “Corin, say something,” he demands. Corin stops walking, drawing Cor to a halt, and drops his hand. He cups Cor’s face in his palms and leans their foreheads together.

“I love you, too,” he says, and finally, finally kisses Cor deeply on the mouth. Cor laughs into the kiss and grabs Corin’s shoulder tightly, kissing back fiercely. Yes, Corin thinks, tongue in Cor’s mouth and Cor’s taste and scent all around him. Yes. Yes. _Yes._

**Author's Note:**

> All the Fauns we meet seem to have names ending in the letter s, so I found one that meant "Helper and protector of mankind".


End file.
